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Weaving larger-than-life arrangements with razor-sharp yet feather-light lyricism, Crookes sits as the centerpiece of a kind of big band pop.

Blake’s vocals are, predictably, beautiful; Blake’s production is, predictably, meticulous; and it’s all, predictably, quite predictable.

Vintage Del Rey (in both senses of the word), though the curious thing about the record is that it flies highest when she sounds least like herself.

Drawing from a melting pot of influences, Parks delivers ice cool nonchalance and honest intimacy in a debut record as exciting as it is impressive.

The album dusky psychedelic pop is covered in so much haze that, despite serious musical detours, tracks tend to blend together. It’s a good blend, though.

Part dramatic dream, part sun-soaked soliloquy, part love letter to mid-century pop rock, Midnight Sister have sewn together a wistful, woozy record.

The harmonies are wonderful, the instrumentation is charming, and, well, everything sounds rather bloody marvellous. Lots to love and little to dislike.

It seems that a template was drawn up and filled in ten times over, such that every track sounds like the last, only wearing a different hat.

The album is a nostalgia trip and, unintentionally(?), the longest ‘only Millenials will remember’ meme in some time.

Emotionally vulnerable and creatively restless. The record plays out like a prolonged stream of consciousness, yet every aspect seems carefully constructed.

The album makes for hypnotic listening, bobbling along like a well-mannered German robot. All these years later it still sounds like the future.

The album's all a bit clean cut, a perfectly pleasant smorgasbord of gothy synth pop which goes in one ear and out the other.

Classic Gorillaz. Buoyant and aspirational, the project feels like a release of tension after the comparative harshness of Demon Days.

For all its instances of greatness and undeniable beauty, MAGDALENE gets tangled in its own pop epic aspirations.

Nine Inch Nails rapidly became renowned for emotive and affecting music. Pretty Hate Machine contains those qualities, albeit in anxious tidbits.

A satisfying-yet-unspectacular entry in the Bat for Lashes discography. Heartily recommended to those who share Khan’s affection for the ’80s.

Lover isn’t as expansive as Kate Bush or as daring as St. Vincent, but it is accessible and intelligent, which are the hallmarks of Swift at her best.

Catchy and sterile. The majority of these songs wouldn't feel out of place in an advert for Google, such is the clinical nature of their formation.

Despite its glistening arrangements and ethereal production, this is a cheesy, yet excellently realised, pop album at heart; bold and forthright.

While much of the Two Sun's tracklist doesn't feel as though it explores its ideas far enough, its highlights go a long way to make up for it.

Blake has always been hugely successful at setting a mood, but for the first time in his career he actually exudes genuine emotive qualities.

The songwriting is unbelievably good, to the point where it sounds effortless. Bowie shows sensitivity, humour, and even a little arrogance.

Honey delights in a downtempo sensuality. It finds voice in not being larger than life, delving instead into the deeply personal.

That Bush could create something so deliriously weird and wild yet also break through to the mainstream world is great proof of her powers.

Björk creates her own identity by combining contrasting into something entirely unique. This broke the mould of what it means to be a new, exciting artist.

Pulp nail the pop/rock formula to near perfection. The themes aren’t necessarily cheerful, yet the album sounds like a celebration from beginning to end.

As enjoyable, sometimes euphoric, as Dirty Computer is, it’s far from perfect. Some of the trap-tinged beats will likely sound redundant in a few years.

Air combined chillout aesthetic with downtempo percussion, adding the pop element that made them such a success. Pleasant, familiar, and often absorbing.

Dylan Seeger is a musician and designer living in New York, as is tradition. We talk Claye, the pressures of recording solo, and (sound) circumcision.

MGMT plod along with all the charisma of a mumbler with a weak chin, and it’s not as if the mix is lush enough to distract from the absence of drive or direction.

An ambitious, splintered record. Glammy schizoid pop rubs shoulders with tightly wound, rather despairing cud chewing, but the two styles never truly mesh.

Visions of a Life is a triumph of contemporary British rock. The riffs roar and the melodies soar, with the band playing beautifully to Ellie Rowsell’s strengths.

It took Michael Jackson five years to follow up the greatest selling album of all time, and despite showing signs of age, Bad gave it a damn good go.

It’s hard to believe everyone involved in Everything Now was on the same page. The music seldom seems comfortable in its own skin, and for good reason.

An album of inoffensive and enjoyable pop music. With strong instrumentals that step above the norm, the shiny production is actually surplus to requirements.

There isn't much substance here. The album gives a far clearer impression of who Royal Blood want to sound like than it does what their actual vibe is.

“This is like a classy Disney tune” – André and Fred listen to Lorde

Relaxer falls together for spells, sometimes very well, but for the most part the music sounds drunk. The general impression it leaves is inelegant and sloppy.

Time might be up for 2-D and the gang. Without the music belonging to them they’re nothing but cardboard cutouts, and without them the music rings hollow.

The album’s songwriting is fairly subpar, trying to say everything at once. Humanz is by no means a terrible album, but it’s definitely a disappointing one.

Music written by a composer of Ellis Ludwig-Leone's class should never feel formulaic, but it does. It makes for a mildly enjoyable, yet rather hollow experience.

There are a handful of stellar pop tracks, and a mammoth mid-album climax that will go down as one of the group's finest moments. A lovely indie-pop record.

How To Be A Human Being is a great indie pop album in a year that hasn’t had many. So far, the band hasn’t made a misstep

Precious little of what makes Gaga special is on show in Joanne. Outrageous, infuriatingly catchy pop anthems are nowhere to be seen; just pedestrian ones.

Shifting smoothly from ’90s R&B to psychedelic funk, Channel Orange is a liberation that Frank Ocean experiences as an artist as well as a man.

Blond flirts with indulgence but just about manages to stay grounded. It’s an account of slight thoughts, vague ideas, and delicate musings.

This was 50 minutes of anti-climax. Interesting instrumentals are peppered throughout, but they mostly fail to evolve from the opening moments of each track.

An endearing record of mystery and wonder, deftly inheriting elements from a wide selection of genres that amalgamate to create a category of its own.

This is pop music for the mature listener; easy to consume, enjoyable enough, but flimsy and a little watered down compared to Cocker's work with Pulp.

Inoffensive and unspectacular pop fodder. People will listen to it on the radio and find it agreeable and vaguely evocative and then forget it ever existed.

For all the merits of Lianne La Havas’s thoroughly lovely and dynamic voice, the album ultimately comes across as lopsided and a little flat.

Flowing beautifully from beginning to end, the album in its entirety can feel slightly taxing due to the bloated, overstuffed nature of the songwriting.

A cartoonish odyssey bristling with creative energy. The whimsy of the band's debut album is replaced by a biting sombreness very much of the 21st century.